


Cabin in the Woods

by thewolfhoundandlittlebird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cabins, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Modern, One Shot, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 09:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfhoundandlittlebird/pseuds/thewolfhoundandlittlebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor & Sansa get snowed in to a cabin in the woods. Gotta stay warm somehow!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cabin in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a quickie for a thought I had while hubs & I were looking at cabins to rent for Valentine's day next year. Didn't really have a back story or anything else planned, just a little scene in my head. Partially inspired by a scene in Monarch of the Glen (curse such long shifts with nothing to do!). 
> 
> [Pics](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/19/2f/09/192f092ca5151b17a0dc8be48a33e003.jpg) BTW, if anyone has any Sandor suggestions, I would greatly appreciate some alternatives. Seems it's quite easy to find pictures I think are suitable Sansa material, but I'm super picky about Sandor. :)

“Sansa, what do you expect me to do about it?”

 

“I don't know. You just always seem to have something figured out. Some kind of plan. I just thought-”

 

“Well, you thought wrong. We're stuck here, at least for the night. So just quit your chirping and help me look for matches.”

 

“Jeez, sorry.” She rifled through the drawer closest to her, scowling over at the man through her bangs.

 

“Don't apologize- just find us some damned matches or we're going to freeze overnight,” he growled back at her, glancing briefly through the window pane over the rusted sink. Snow fell silently amidst the pines, and it would have been quite beautiful if they'd intended to be there and they had some way to light the stack of wood they'd collected next to the fireplace.

 

She evaluated the man next to her quickly before returning to her task: huge frame wrapped up in the dark canvas of a Carhartt jacket, flannel poking out around the collar where his long black hair didn't cover. Warm in anything but the cold wet snow outside. Useless against moisture and sure to catch him frostbite if he spent any amount of time in the flurries outside. At least she'd thought ahead enough to wear something waterproof. She noticed how clumsy his big hands were as he dug at the contents of the drawers in front of him, and in her attentions, saw the corner of what looked like a book of matches get shoved back when he moved some silverware aside.

 

“Hey, I think I saw- do you mind if I look in that one again?” she asked as he slammed the drawer closed, hastily moving on to the next one underneath it.

 

“Have at it, princess,” he growled up at her when he crouched down to inspect the next drawer, his head ducked down in concentration. “But I doubt you'll find any in there.”

 

She daintily reached into the back of the drawer he'd abandoned, long fingers fishing out the pack of matches wedged between the tines of a fork. For fear of his ire, she bit back the smile that crept up to her lips as she leaned back against the counter, holding a book of matches in front of him. She could tell he wanted to make some sort of retort as his eyes fell on them, lids sinking a little lower as he realized he'd been wrong in doubting her. He snatched them from her hand and grumpily stalked over to the fireplace, throwing logs haphazardly into the hearth.

 

She shifted against the counter, crossing and recrossing her arms, trying to decide if she should tell him he was doing it wrong. He must've noticed, because he glared at her over the hill of his shoulder, one grey eye watching her as she shuffled.

 

He paused with his hand resting on the last log he'd stacked. “Got something to say?” She eyed him nervously, but hesitated still. “Spit it out, girl.”

 

“If you stacked them differently, it would catch quicker. Less smoke.”

 

“And what makes you think that?”

 

“I used to watch the boys when they'd set them up for us.”

 

“You mean your servants.”

 

“Yes, well. I never liked calling them that. You needn't be so harsh, you know.”

 

“Harsh is what you need in the world, girl. You'd best learn that before you get to your _beloved's_ house. Before you have a rude awakening.” He turned back to the fireplace, stacking another log onto the pile and then thinking better of it. “Fine,” he pushed himself up off the floor, motioning toward the fireplace. “Show me how you think you should do it.”

 

He watched as she knelt on the hearth and rearranged the logs he'd already stacked, shoving kindling here and there. _I'm not just some spoiled rich girl. I'm good for something_ , she thought as she admired her work. She threw back her hand, holding it out for the matches which he begrudgingly placed in her palm. The kindling was quick to catch, the logs less so, but eventually there was a strong fire, and Sandor backed off to lean against the far wall, leaving her to sit cross-legged in front of it. She watched the flames dance, the heat thawing her almost-numb fingers and stinging her nose as it warmed. They sat there in uneasy silence for a while until she couldn't stand it any longer.

 

“I'm not as dumb as you might think, you know.”

 

“Oh?”

 

She twisted around to look at him, his head bowed and hair falling over his face, intent on fiddling with the pocket knife in his hands. _Something to do, I suppose._ “I used to think life was just a song. Full of happy endings and perfect princes coming in to save me on their gallant steeds. But that dream died along with the realization that Joffrey's a monster.”

 

“I'd mind your choice of people you say that to, if I were you.”

 

“You mean you?” Their eyes met briefly, his scowl through his brows and hers through the curtain of her bangs. “I figured out long ago that your allegiance doesn't lie with them.”

 

“Is that so?” She heard him flip the knife shut, slide it in his pocket. His attention was on her.

 

“Mhmm.”

 

“And where, pray tell, does it lie then?”

 

“With whoever tells the truth.”

 

He pursed his lips, the ruined side of his face twitching just barely as he set his eyes on hers. “Aye. I suppose you're right in that.”

 

It made her uncomfortable to meet his gaze for so long and so she turned back to the fire, watching as the flames licked at their brick enclosure. “And me.”

 

“I'd not be so sure of that, little bird.”

 

“Well, you've proven it so far.”

 

“Have I?” She heard the canvas rub against itself as he crossed his arms over his chest, but she kept her eyes on the flickering light in front of her. “How so?”

 

“I don't know, you're just always looking out for me.”

 

“No more than Ned hired me to.”

 

She played with the laces of her boots, chewed on her lip. Gods, why did she just have to _assume_ things some times? Maybe she'd read too much into it. How he'd always been there to protect her from Joffrey, even before her dad ha d stolen him away from the Lannisters. How his hands always seemed to linger just a heartbeat too long on her skin when he'd help her up on to her horse or into the car or… no, surely she hadn't. _Surely_.

 

But maybe now wasn't the time to bring it up. She'd already insulted him about not knowing how to make a proper fire. Though with that face, he probably tried to stay as far away from it as he could. It would make sense he didn't know how to build one. She picked at the little plastic tip on her boot lace, trying to think of something to change the subject. Then she remembered she'd seen a pot in one of the cupboards they'd rummaged through. She stood and dusted off her jeans, making her way over to the cupboard and ducking away from his gaze.

 

The pot was an old, beaten up thing, but it would have to do. And besides, it wasn't like she was cooking dinner or anything. _Dinner_. The thought made her stomach growl and her mind wander to take a mental inventory of her purse. There might be an errant granola bar or two floating around in the dredges. If they were lucky. If not, melted snow was all they were having for dinner. She heard a grunt of protest when she yanked the door open and let in the cold air, but it was silenced when he realized what she was doing.

 

He watched her as she set the pot of snow down on the hearth, watched as the sides slowly warmed and the snow shrunk away from them. “I don't suppose there's any mugs in those cupboards?” she called over her shoulder, passively asking him to search for some.

 

“Nope,” he answered after searching through the dusty offerings of the shelves. “Plenty of other shit we don't need, but no mugs.”

 

She listened to his bootsteps on the wooden planks as he crossed the floor over to her, settling himself a reasonable distance from her and throwing a blanket over her crossed legs. “Found a blanket, though.”

 

Her eyes ran along the pilled wool of the blanket, from her completely covered lap to the angle of his bent knee, barely halfway covered with the edge of it. “Look at you! You barely fit under this thing.” She tipped her head to his long legs in front of him, a foot or so beyond where the blanket would stop, even if he was under it properly. He glared over at her, apparently grumpy at her for pointing out something so benignly obvious.

 

“What? You just are, Sandor. I didn't mean it like that.” He folded his arms over his chest again, pulled his feet a little farther from the fire, even though the heat was probably needed. If her toes were freezing, his probably were, too. She shivered thinking about it. She reached out her hand to him, just barely leaning over. “Come here, no harm being a little closer. It'll be warmer that way.”

 

He just eyed her warily. “I don't need your sympathy, Sansa.”

 

“Sympathy? Who said anything about sympathy?”

 

“You were just-”

 

“Just come over here. I'm cold. You're cold. Maybe we'll warm up faster if you're over here.” She leaned forward to collect the pot of now-steaming water. He still didn't move. “Ugh, _jeez_ , you're stubborn.” She scooted over to him, carefully balancing the pot so she didn't spill it with her movements. She could tell he flinched when she settled next to him, but he didn't move. _See, maybe I didn't read it wrong after all_. “Cheers,” she handed him the pot, tipping her head at him to drink some while she adjusted the blanket so it covered both of them.

 

He handed it back to her after he'd had some, watching her carefully. “How come you're being so nice?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Why are you so nice to everyone? To me?”

 

“Because we're snowed in to a tiny cabin, and I don't want to make the only other person here angry with me?” She looked up at him, blue eyes betraying nothing but incomprehension. _Why wouldn't I be nice to him?_

 

He shook his head at her, trying to shake out a different way to phrase his question, pinched the bridge of his nose and furrowed his brow.

 

“Sandor, I don't have any reason not to be nice to you.”

 

“But you're so gods damned nice to _everyone_ , girl, and it will get you in trouble sooner or later.”

 

“Are we back at this, again?” Now it was her turn to scowl up at him. “I was raised to be a lady, Sandor. And ladies are kind to everyone. Doesn't matter who. And you- you in particular- need someone to be nice to you.”

 

He returned her scowl, but it melted a little as he settled on the point he was trying to make. “You're too good for him, you know.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Then why don't you do something about it?”

 

“And what would you have me do? If you haven't noticed, I'm on my way being shuttled to his house right now. Or at least, I was. I have very limited options when it comes to breaking off the engagement.”

 

He was silent for a moment, considering his words, his jaw clenching and relaxing as he moved them around in his mouth. “I could get you out of this place. Keep you safe. No one would hurt you or I'd kill them.”

 

She was physically taken aback by his statement. _What is that supposed to mean?_ All she could do was blink up at him for a solid minute, and he adjusted himself, shifting around apprehensively, now probably afraid of what she'd say. He locked his eyes on the flames in front of him, the burned side of his face twitching with the effort. _Gods, Sansa, say something. He's waiting for an answer_.

 

“I- I don't think that's necessary. But thank you.”

 

“Save your courtesies, girl. Stupid idea anyway.”

 

“No, it's just… I mean… _kill_ , Sandor? Kill someone?” She furrowed her brow, her eyes wide in disbelief.

 

“That's what you're hung up on?” He turned his head, meeting the deer-in-the-headlights expression plastered on her face.

 

“Well, _yeah_! What else would it be?”

 

“Oh, I don't know,” he snapped sarcastically. “Maybe the whole running away with me part.”

 

“No, no, I'm pretty sure killing someone is worse than running away with a strange man.”

 

“I'm not a strange man! Sansa, you've known me for, what, ten years?”

 

This was quickly turning into an argument that she didn't want to have. Not in general, because she didn't like fighting. Not with the man sitting next to her. And certainly not with said man being mere inches from her, sharing the only warmth in the whole space around them.

 

“Yeah, and in that ten years, I have never heard you say that.”

 

“Say what, that I'd kill for you?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and the surprised look on his face displayed that he'd not meant her to hear those words in that particular order. She could only meet his startled expression with her own. That wasn't exactly what she'd expected to hear.

 

“Well, when you say it like that...” she finally began after a time, sitting in awkward silence.

 

He cleared his throat, unhappy with the way the conversation had turned. “Look, just forget I said anything. Tomorrow we'll try to dig the car out of the snow and see if we can get down the mountain any further. We're just here for the night. Joffrey will be expecting you. And if your parents don't hear from you pretty soon, they'll send out a search party, I'm sure.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose. Though running away doesn't sound so bad right about now.” She leaned over as far as she could, stretching her arm out to hook onto the strap of her purse on the floor. Once she'd dragged it back over, she dug around in the bottom looking for something to eat. _Success_! She dug out two granola bars, their wrappers crinkled from being in there so long, and crumbs rustling as she handed one over to Sandor. “Not much of a dinner, I know, but it's better than nothing.”

 

“Save it. We might need it later on. Might end up we don't get out of here as soon as we planned.” He handed her back the bar she'd given him, and she looked down at the package she'd just unwrapped. Her stomach gurgled in anticipation of the crunchy oats.

 

“Oh. But-”

 

“Eat yours. Just save mine til tomorrow. If we still can't get out, we'll split it.”

 

“But aren't you hungry?” She looked down at the bar, up at him, down at the bar. _Gods, I'm hungry_.

 

“I'll be okay.”

 

Though her stomach complained as her hands moved, she broke off half of hers and handed it to him.

 

“Here. That's fair. Half today, half tomorrow. Okay?”

 

“Sansa, eat your food. I'm fine.” She heard a grumble from somewhere in his jacket.

 

“You are _not_. You're hungry, too.” She swatted at him, her mouth full of granola. _How unladylike_. But then her hand hit the stone on the other side of the canvas. _Oh._ She could feel the blush creep up her cheeks and ducked her head away when he raised his eyebrows at her.

 

“Little bird has talons, I see.” He mocked her sad attempt at hitting him.

 

“And the old dog's bark is worse than his bite,” she chided back, her nose scrunched up at him.

 

“Who you calling old?”

 

“You!”

 

“I'm not old!”

 

“Are too.”

 

“Gods, are we really going to start this?”

 

“Start what?”

 

“Arguing.”

 

“Only if you keep arguing back.”

 

“You started it.”

 

She swatted at him a little harder this time, but he caught her wrist mid-swing. “Cut it out, little bird. You've proven your point.” She knew the look on her face probably made her look like a child; her lower lip jutting out in a pout, eyebrows turned up in the middle and eyes rounded to make him feel sorry for her. It was a look she'd gotten rather good at over the years, and it normally got her what she wanted. But not this time.

 

He scowled back at her, grey eyes steel as they met hers. “I think we should get some rest while we can.” He let go of her wrist to throw another log on the fire, looking back over his shoulder at her as he leaned on his knees. “Long day tomorrow,” he said at her crossed arms. Now she certainly felt like a child. Gods, it was infuriating how he managed to do that. At once making her feel desired when his hands would barely linger on her, and then immediately dashing any further thoughts as he scolded her over something or another.

 

She took her jacket off and balled it up in a huff, shoving it under her head when she laid down, pulling the blanket up under her chin. “You might want to throw another log on the fire before you go to sleep. That one probably won't last the night by itself.” She'd be damned if he had the last word. _Sending me to bed._ _Pah!_

 

He grunted back at her, the only acknowledgment that he'd heard her. She pretended to be asleep until he laid down next to her, body stiff and clearly trying not to touch her. She did the best imitation of a barely-roused person she could when she rolled over and wrapped her arm around his chest, snuggling into his shoulder. There was a sharp intake of breath from above her head as her hand wormed its way between his bicep and chest, but he didn't move, didn't push her away. She fell asleep for real with a smile on her face, her nose buried into the warm canvas of his jacket, inhaling the scent of him; Old Spice and gun oil, and just a little bit of wood smoke from the fire in front of them.

 

* * *

 

Sometime in the middle of the night, she woke to lips being pressed to her forehead, the scratch of stubble on her nose, a heavy arm wrapping around her. _Oh, really?_ Well, that proved her suspicions. She kissed him back without hesitation, just under the curve of his cheekbone, feeling the bumpy skin of his scar under her lips. His eyes were closed, a contented smile spreading across his lips as he nuzzled into her. _I thought so._ She felt one of his hands rubbing her back, the arm her head was resting on pulling her closer to him, and then his lips met hers, tentative, soft.

 

“Sansa,” he whispered sleepily when he pulled back from her, only a moment long enough to let her name slip out before he was back on her. And she met his kisses with equal desire, soon yielding to the soft persistence of his tongue trying to open her mouth. She moaned into him, _gods, it's so much better than anything Joffrey has ever done_. Her hand snaked up between them, coming to rest somewhere on his neck, her fingers hovering over the movement of his jaw as he kissed her. She felt his hand run down her back and over her arse, then hook under her knee to pull it up over his hips. She moaned into him again when she felt the hardness in his jeans press into her, but the blanket shifted just enough to let in a cold gush of air, stealing the warmth they'd accumulated.

 

He stiffened under her, his lips stilling their movement, pulling back, his hand releasing its grip on her leg. It could only have been a second that it took him to realize what was happening, but it felt like an eternity to be separated from him. Then he abruptly rolled away from her, pushing her away from him.

 

“ _Shit_ , Sansa,” he hissed, scooting away from her until his back hit the wall behind him.

 

“What?” She propped herself up on her elbow, looking at him with confusion in the dull light of the weakening fire.

 

“What do you mean _what_?” he waved his hand in the space between them, eyes wild. “ _Shit_.”

 

“Was it that bad?”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“I- we- wait, were you even _awake_?” Realization dawned on her as she stared at his startled expression. _He was dreaming_. She giggled at his predicament, met only with the quickly-turning scowl of his features. Clearly, he didn't think this was nearly as funny as she did. “Aww, you were dreaming about me?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Aww, that's not nice,” she teased. The ball was in her court and she knew it.

 

“Let's just… forget about it. Go back to sleep,” he said through the hands he was running over his face.

 

“No.” She held his eyes, confusion settling over them. “I won't forget about it.” She could tell that he wasn't quite understanding the words that were coming out of her mouth. “I liked it.”

 

“ _You_ were awake?”

 

“Mhmm.” She leaned forward to toss another log on the fire before it sputtered out, watching it for a minute and trying to decide what she wanted to do.

 

“Shit.”

 

“Stop saying that,” she chided, settling back where she'd been and crossing her legs. She nested the blanket around her, pretending to be unconcerned with the way he was staring at her.

 

“Sansa, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- you should've stopped me- I… I… we can't.”

 

“'We can't,' or you don't want to?”

 

“You should have pushed me away.”

 

“Why would I push you away? It felt good.” She noticed the dubious look in his eyes, feeling a little sadness that he probably didn't get the opportunity to hear that all too often. “And besides, it's not my fault. You started it.”

 

“I was asleep!”

 

“And who am I to wake a sleeping giant?”

 

“A girl who should know better than to let some man take advantage of her.”

 

“First of all, I wouldn't _let_ you take advantage of me, and secondly, I liked it. So...” She crawled over to him, trailing the blanket behind her. She stopped when she made it up to his bent knees, feeling a bit overwhelmingly powerful. It was a heady sensation, something completely new to her. Know that someone wanted her. That she wanted him, too, and for once, no one was there to tsk tsk at them, telling her who she could and could not be interested in. If she decided to do anything with this creature in front of her, it would be her decision, and a little squeal of excitement echoed around in her head when she closed the last inches to his lips, leaned in for another kiss, and- hands on her shoulders, pushing her back, his head turned away from her.

 

“Sansa, we _can't_.”

 

Instantly, her stomach dropped, a kick to the gut. _Oh, no. She'd been entirely wrong._ But then she felt the anger well up inside her. No! She wasn't wrong! She knew she wasn't, and he was just being stubborn. Perhaps he was right, that they really shouldn't, but gods, it had felt so good. And if she was still to be married off to Joffrey in the next few days, she wanted to get a last taste of kindness and elation, and, perhaps it was a little too much to hope for, but… love?

 

“ _No, Sandor_. We can. We are two adults. We can do as we please.”

 

“Sansa, go back to bed. I'll not be jeopardizing your future, or mine should anyone find out about-” he waved his hands in the air between them again, “-this. Whatever it is you've gotten in your head that you think is going to happen, _it's not._ So go back to sleep.”

 

She hadn't realized her hand had even moved from its place on the floor, from holding her up, until it made contact with the smooth flesh of his cheek, the scratch of stubble as it hit her palm. He instantly grabbed her wrist, eyes furious, jaw clenched. Her eyes were wide staring back at him. _What did I do?_

 

“Enough, Sansa.” He released her wrist to point back over where they'd been laying on the floor. “Back to bed.”

 

“I am not a child!” She thought about crossing her arms over her chest and pouting out her bottom lip again, but that would only serve to make her look exactly like the child she was trying to prove she was not. Instead, she glared back at him, insolent, challenging.

 

“You're certainly acting like one.”

 

“I don't exactly know the age gap between us for you to think that I'm a child, but I most certainly am not. I'm twenty five and I can make my own decisions.” This time, she did cross her arms, settling in between his bent knees, unmovable. Or so she thought until he pushed her back across the wooden planks of the floor, his long legs' distance away from him.

 

“Gods, Sansa, what's gotten into you?”

 

“What's gotten into _me?_ You're the one that had the-” she flicked a finger in the general direction of the space between his legs, “-you _know_. And you're the one that kissed me!”

 

“ _Gods_ , Sansa. You can't even say it. _Hard on_. It's not that difficult, and if you're not capable of saying that, of dirtying your pretty little mouth with crude words, then you're definitely not ready for anything else.” She glared at him still, taking in his hulking form up against the wall, a wild animal caged by a pretty little bird, trapping himself so he wouldn't have to touch her. He ran his hands through his hair, drew in a breath to stall for time. “Besides, why would you spoil yourself with a dog like me?”

 

She ducked her head, afraid to meet his eyes, embarrassed by the thoughts swimming around her head, but wanting to spill them anyway. “Because it felt good. Like I said before.”

 

“You can't be serious. Pretty birds don't like old dogs. Never have, and they never will.”

 

“I already told you, I don't believe in those silly songs anymore. I need someone who is kind and brave and gentle.” She raised her eyes to meet his, still stony with his walls. “Like you.”

 

He coughed out a mocking puff of air, the line of his mouth a mixture of smirk and frown. “You'll think differently in the morning, believe me.”

 

“I don't think I will.”

 

“You women always do.” Her heart broke a little to think that that was his truth, but she didn't want to dwell on the fact that there had been others.

 

“I'm not just any woman.”

 

He raised his eyebrows, then dropped his head to break her gaze. “You're right, you're not.”

 

“Why don't you come sit back over here? You'll freeze over there.” She tapped the space on the floor next to her, flipping the blanket over to motion him to settle under it with her.

 

He shook his head, “Because I don't want to fall asleep again.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because look what happened last time!” He spread his arms out at her, shooting her a pleading look, hopeful that maybe she would drop it. But she needed him to believe her. Needed him to have her, needed someone to _want_ her, not like Joffrey wanted her. Not to use as some toy. But really want _her_. And she knew he did. She knew it now.

 

“I wouldn't mind if it happened again,” she said coyly, through her lashes.

 

“I wouldn't be able to stop myself.” His eyes were white hot steel, barely concealing the look she'd wanted from him. The one she'd been pushing him to.

 

“Yes, you would.”

 

“Yes, I would,” he conceded.

 

She patted next to her again, encouraging, doing the best she could to draw him in. “Come here, you old dog.”

 

And when he settled in next to her, and her hands snaked back around him, it was all she could do to quiet the squeal of victory in her head that she'd done it. She'd convinced this block of a man to move. For her. To her. And when his lips met hers for the second time that night, she didn't need any more help silencing the thoughts that had been swimming around in her head.


End file.
